


Miniature Horse

by its_mike_kapufty



Series: Rhink Ficlets [20]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Advice, Don't copy to another site, Drinking & Talking, Fluff, Hot Tub, Implied First Kiss, M/M, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 06:03:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20077363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_mike_kapufty/pseuds/its_mike_kapufty
Summary: Things have to stay the same for the audience's sake.Thingsneedto change for their sake.





	Miniature Horse

“Know what I miss most about North Carolina on nights like these?”

Like any other meandering thought Rhett pushes into existence, the question is loaded with _ you should know what I’m about to say, _so blame the empty beer bottles nestled in the grass surrounding the hot tub—Link isn’t prepped for this brand of reminiscing. At a loss, he takes his time considering the riddle along with his backyard while he taps his drink absently against his bare chest.

It’s summer in Burbank. The air is dry, but not too warm since the sun’s gone down—perfect for a late night dip and sip. Ruling out _ humidity _as something deserving nostalgia, Link blinks heavily and runs through his remaining senses in a southern checklist:

Sight. “Stars—the night sky.”

“Nope.” Rhett chuckles, squinting at him from his lounge on the other side of the tub. He slips down, the warm water encroaching up his chest to blanket his freckles. “Try again.”

Link takes it in stride. Does as he’s told.

Taste. “Barbecue. Havin’ cookouts.” 

The relenting nod Rhett drawls out with a pulled face gives Link hope, but he knows he’s still wrong. “Now that you mention it.”

Smell. “The honeysuckle,” Link guesses.

“You gettin’ sentimental over there?” It’s hard not to follow Rhett’s arms when they lift from the bath and his elbows perch on the rim of the basin. Muscles Link’s known his entire life, yet he somehow always feels like he’s seeing them for the first time in moments like these. 

“Maybe a little,” Link grins, shaking his head and nursing his beer.

“You’re getting closer, though, talkin’ about trees. But knowing you, you’re gonna get hung up on that.” Rhett cocks his head and smirks. “Always were bad at guessing games. S’prolly why I asked. Fun to watch your process.”

Sound.

Link is stumped on that front. 

“I give up.”

“The cicadas, man.” Rhett gestures to the trees surrounding Link’s yard and picks up his own bottle at the end of the sweep, pressing the mouth of it to his bottom lip. “I miss ‘em. Doesn’t really feel like home without the deafening buzz for a month solid. I wonder if we could get ‘em introduced as an invasive species. I bet they’d like it here.”

Talkative dork, when he gets a few drinks in him. 

Link grins. “The lines at food trucks are long enough as is. Now I gotta wait behind a buncha bugs?”

Rhett snorts and lets his eyes slip shut. Sliding farther, he pulls the bottom of his beer into the heat, and a part of Link wants to chastise him for cooking his drink. Nothing worse than a warm brew, even if his friend would be the type to suck it up and chug anyway after the fact. But Rhett looks peaceful, and a louder part of Link doesn’t want to hassle him.

Instead, he turns Rhett’s confession around in his head, examining it from every angle and trying to appreciate the _ Rhettness _ of it. He would. He would miss screaming bugs from back home. Link misses them a bit, too, now that he remembers they’re a thing.

His mind sways this way and that on the available tangents, and after some time, he clears his throat and taps his beer against his collarbone. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rhett’s attention returns—hazed, but piqued in a way unique to the inebriated—and his eyebrows rise. “Somethin’ I haven’t heard before?”

“Yeah.”

“Must mean it’s pretty trivial,” Rhett decides, and Link laughs warmly.

“It is, yeah.”

“Hit me.”

Link takes a breath to fuel the confession, like it needs heavy wind in its sails to move. “Miniature horses ain’t my favorite animal anymore.”

“What? Really?” Rhett sits up, rising to his full seated height and scrutinizing Link. He certainly appears more interested in this development than Link thought he would. “Then what _ is _your favorite animal?”

“Ever since I got Jade, dogs. You probably could’ve guessed that, though.” 

Rhett watches him a moment longer before glancing past Link’s shoulder in thought. “Huh. Makes sense.”

“Yep.” Link busies his throat with drink and swallows, wincing like it hurts as he nears the end of his bottle. “_ Ahh. _Yeah, dogs. I haven’t told anyone but you. I’m kinda nervous to mention it, actually. Especially on camera.”

“What? Why?” Rhett’s inquiry is soft, and Link smirks. Maybe his ‘secret’ had been juicy after all. That’s the best part of admitting ‘trivial’ crap to each other.

“I’ve got an image to preserve.” Link nudges his glasses up. “There are things everyone knows about us, man. Stuff considered ‘common sense’ by the fans, right? Like you loving beans and hating cats.”

“Link, I made a joke video a while back ‘bout how I secretly liked cats and hated beans. You’re reading too much into having favorites.”

“I don’t think I am.” Link peers through the neck of his beer, inspecting how close to done he is with this one. “The entire crux of that joke is that people _ know _you, and knew it was a ridiculous claim. You were tryin’ to get a shocked reaction.”

Rhett hesitates, then presses his lips into a thin line. “I guess you could read it that way, if you wanna analyze it all critically.”

Funny—funny for _ him _to crap on analyses. 

“Our ‘favorites’ are part of our brand,” Link nods, placing his point together like a house of cards. “If we’re stable, we’re reliable. We’re known. We’ve been there for our audience, and we’re always gonna be there for our audience. Even if everything else in their lives gets crazy, they can at least rely on the fact that two idiots online have their shit together and know who they are. They’ll know that we love Merle Haggard. That you have a thing for forests and wood. And they’ll always think that I love miniature horses.”

In the following silence, Link knows Rhett’s internalizing his diatribe in the same way Link had taken time to ache for cicadasong. It’s a give and take, as all of their exchanges are. When Rhett does eventually speak, it tangs with sap in the exact way Link had hoped.

“I know you’re not implying there’ll be a day where we _ won’t _love Merle no more.”

Link chuckles. “‘Course not.”

“Still, you shouldn’t think like that.”

“What?” 

Link furrows his brow and takes Rhett in again at face value. The guy is leaning hard on his elbows still, shoulders back and chest out. The lamplight from the near porch casts him in an orange glow. His face is flushed from heat, and his normally-perfect hair has fallen victim to the vapor of their soak, curled and limp against his forehead. Link watches as he lolls his head back—the way his mustache twitches before he talks candidly to the stars masked by light pollution. (They’re up there, somewhere.)

“You can’t stay stagnant your entire life for other people. You think folks are really gonna stop liking you if a detail about your life changes?” Rhett’s eyes sink to meet Links, and his lips twitch up in gentle amusement. “That’s not what they like about you.”

Heat flashes through Link from the tub, and he suddenly wishes his drink were fresh and cold. “Nah, I know that! I just—”

“They like you because you’ve shown them that you’re a good person. You’re kind, and loving, and endearing. You treat guests on the show with respect and they like the way you react to stuff,” Rhett plows on, leaving Link in stunned dust. “Who cares if you change? Don’t hide it. Throw it in their faces. Make them accept that new part of who you are, buddyroll.”

Link stares through the thin film of fog over his glasses. “You think?”

“Well, _ yeah. _” Apparently the need for reassurance is funny; Rhett’s silent belly laugh sends ripples out that lap hot at Link’s skin. “Doesn’t matter if you’re talkin’ about something small or big—do it for yourself. Live for yourself.”

Rhett finishes with that thought. It’s one that’s trite yet universal enough to be stitched into a throw pillow somewhere or tweeted by some ‘motivational shower thoughts’ account. It’s one that Link would parrot off to anyone were _ he _ the confidante, advice that comes naturally and goes hand-in-hand with most life advice.

But hearing it come from Rhett is heavy. So, so much heavier.

It feels like a command.

Lightheaded, Link sets his empty drink down and shifts, following the seat of the tub. He rounds the bath and his legs brush Rhett’s along the way, interrupting the careful space between them. 

Seconds pass in both lifetimes and snapshots and then Link’s at Rhett’s side, not remembering how he got there, watched by those large, curious green eyes. But Rhett’s smile hasn’t faded in the slightest, and it’s steady and assured, and Link swallows.

“Whatcha doin’?” Rhett asks calmly, gaze dipping to the space Link is taking up beside him.

“Taking your advice,” Link breathes, bracing one hand on the edge of the basin and shifting once more. 

He brings one leg over Rhett’s waist, turning towards him—belly to belly—and if Rhett’s going to object, this is the time. But Rhett’s still just an observer, eyes tied to Link in a quiet awe the brunet can’t bear to meet as he lowers his weight into Rhett’s lap. Just a little. 

Still, Rhett doesn’t protest. His arms float on either side of Link, witness and out of the way, but that isn’t a gray area Link can afford; carefully, he lets go of the side and places his hands firmly on Rhett’s shoulders. The contact is familiar yet thrilling, and it threatens to tip Link over from heat and shock when paired with Rhett’s sudden hyper-focus.

He’s intent on Link’s face, and it’s a look Link recognizes and doesn’t.

“Better?” Rhett murmurs, smirk renewing. “All done?” 

And Link exhales a tremble and shakes his head. 

“Just getting started.”

It’s bravery borrowed from Rhett’s suggestion when Link’s wet fingers trail up and brush feathered touches through his beard on their way to cup his jawline. But when Rhett tilts his head back and lets his eyes shut in silent anticipation—in willingness, in natural resolution—there’s no more need to borrow. 


End file.
